-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 5 Successes for an exceptional success.
< 2 4 4 5 6 6 6 10 10 10 10 10 >
============================-> >> Intelligence + Wits No Flags << <-
GAME: Etsy spends 1 Willpower
Game: Etsy has a 2-point "Fame (Escape Artist)" Merit.
C.B. is being held in his own cell, not a shared cell, wearing his clothing from that night -- the normal kind of Ben clothes, i.e. workshirt and jeans, except his appear to be all ripped and bloodied. When he's not huddled in a ball in the corner, he is pacing back and forth...and back and forth...and back and forth...talking to himself, his face covered in bruises, at least one black eye. Bloodied lip. The cops can't see the lightning sparking wildly out from his form, of course, like someone's stuck a fork in a socket.
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 3 Successes
< 2 3 4 4 6 6 6 8 8 9 >
===============================-> >> Wyrd + Persuasion 9-Again << <-
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 4 Successes
< 1 1 1 1 3 5 6 6 7 8 8 9 10 >
========================-> >> Intelligence + Wyrd + 4 No Flags << <-
She may be mad at him. She may have declared him to be a Total Butthead. She may have even sung a song on the Go Away about what a butthead CB is. But there is one thing that Etsy knows and believes before and above all other things, and that's that incarceration is bad for Lost. There's a solidarity there that goes above all internecine squabbles and petty bickering. So, sighing and muttering about 'stupid stupids and their stupid fuck face butt monkey heads' or something to that effect, Etsy gears up in the junkyard and walks to nearby the police station with a map case over her shoulder, her small metal hand mirror hanging at her waist and a stole around her neck that isn't actually a stole. She sets down her stole as it is actually an otter, and that otter scampers into the bushes. Then Etsy casually walks around the corner herself, and disappears.
A few seconds later, the man talking to himself might notice a slight indentation in the cheap mattress in the cell, like someone's tiny butt is sitting there. "Am not having much times," comes the mermaid's voice just above a whisper, "is wanting to leaves?"
Yes, incarceration is /very/ bad for Lost, and maybe /especially/ bad for this Lost. C.B. has been having a long conversation with his old mindfriend John Lennon about what they are going to do. Sometimes John has been there visually, looking all smug in his Sgt. Pepper's uniform, offering help at times, making threats at other times. Sometimes, he's merely heard John's lilting Liverpudlian accent at his ear. The longer C.B. is in here, the more certain he is that he will begin to hear voices, begin to see more old 'friends' come to visit...
So it's maybe no surprise that the electric Wizened lets out a paralyzed scream at the sight of an invisible butt on the mattress. Thing is, he's been screaming and shouting and carrying on so much already that the cops mostly leave him alone. Why feed the crazy, right? They already hate this guy enough for what he's done, and because they made a big boo-boo, they probably won't be able to hold him here. This fucking guy.
If only C.B. still had his pistol on him. He has nothing, of course, which is also why he's shaking (not having a smoke and/or drink in a few days can do that to a guy.) "I'M NOT READY TO DIE!" is the first thing he shouts, although his brow scrunches. Wait, did the voice just say something about leaving? He's much more interested in that.
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 3 Successes
< 1 3 3 6 6 8 9 9 >
=================================-> >> Larceny + Wyrd No Flags << <-
GAME: Etsy spends 2 Glamour with reason: Artifice 2 the cameras
The butt-print rises from the bed, and there's a soft sound of movement inside the cell. If CB were more together, he might be able to track the movement of the mermaid by the very soft sound of her climbing up on the toilet and touching the camera with her webbed hand.
pop
There's a subtle crackling sound and the camera puts up smoke. Then, a sigh as Etsy hops down ever-so-lightly and ever-so-invisibly and intangibly from the toilet. "If wanted to do a killing, would already be a deads," comes the very very distinct diction of the tiny mermaid. She doesn't approach him directly, but wanders back to the bed, sitting back on it. Probably so he can see the butt-print and can tell where she is. "Do not want to do a killing. Am here to have a leaving. Am going to do a leaving again without yous or with yous. Is your choosings. Are wanting to do a leaving, or are wanting to stay and looking like ground liver on goat butt on hot day?"
C.B. can't really put two and two together right now, i.e. he can't really figure out this is Etsy. Any other day and he would surely get it from her speech patterns. Not during a burgeoning psychotic episode, however. He stares gape-mouthed at the camera -- something else he could have done himself, if not so distracted by John -- and then at the invisible girl on the bed. He may not know what the fuck is going on, but he knows he wants to LEAVE.
So what does he do? He nods quickly, wide-eyed, not blinking, and little sparks of blue and white electricity crackle and fly all over the floors, spurting out of his fingers. Don't question it, C.B. This time, just go with it.
GAME: Etsy spends 1 Willpower
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 0 Success
< 1 1 2 2 3 3 3 4 6 6 6 6 7 7 >
===================-> >> Athletics + Wyrd + 3 + 1 + 1 No Flags << <-
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 6 Successes for an exceptional success.
< 1 1 1 3 5 7 8 8 8 9 10 10 >
===================-> >> Athletics + Wyrd + 1 + 1 - 1 No Flags << <-
GAME: Etsy spends 6 Glamour
Well, this certainly isn't going to help things.
The first thing that happens is that a mirror appears from literally nowhere. Like, nowhere. It's a roll-out sheet of metal, which shines brilliantly even in the darkness of the cell. It's shaken out and laid on the floor; the ends curl up just a little bit, as if it's constantly stored rolled up. (It is.)
Then, a tiny hand closes around CB's, and the voice instructs, "Stepping onto mirrors," and, presuming CB does so, there's a moment of silence, and then a little sound of frustration. A rush of Glamour surrounds him, smelling of the sea air, crawling vines with little white flowers popping up all over the floor, a sweetness and the feeling of getting what you really wanted but didn't know you wanted.
A moment later, CB's nowhere for a half-second, somewhere in the space that exists between all mirrors, and then, somewhat disorientingly, he's tumbling sideways out of a similar metal mirror that's been tacked up on the inside of a large tent set up near Tamarack Falls, one with a light pointed at it to be sure it stays reflective.
There's a moment where C.B. closes his eyes and sways on his feet, like he's five seconds to passing out. But, amazingly, he doesn't. Even more amazingly, he doesn't argue with this newest voice; he steps onto that mirror, travels in that unique and disorienting manner, and then he's tumbling out inside that tent, making an unnecessarily loud sound as he does so. He tries to stand up and might hit his head on the ceiling, depending on exactly how large said loud tent is. Hopefully he won't start freaking out and just take the whole tent down by accident -- it's entirely possible.
GAME: Etsy spends 2 Glamour with reason: passengers
GAME: Etsy spends 2 Willpower with reason: passengers
The tent is big enough to stand up in for a short person, but not tall enough for anyone larger than Etsy -- who is five foot nothing in her sock feet -- to stand up in without bumping their head. "Stay here. Sit down. I will be right back," she instructs him, still invisible. She knows that she is quickly running out of time, and doesn't have time to argue with him. Especially if he might take down the tent. There are a couple of sleeping bags rolled out on the ground, there's food -- lunch meat, mostly -- and a couple of cloth bags of something or other.
A moment's silence, and CB can't see anything, but this is what happens: Etsy steps back out of the mirror into CB's cell. Rolls the mirror back up -- she can drop and raise her Phantom Glory as she likes, being unarmored and unarmed -- and then puts it back in its map case. Steps through the wall, runs out to the street, where she finds her otter, snatches it up in her hands, and steps through the reflection on a shop window.
So, from CB's perspective it goes like this: 'Stay here.' About twelve seconds of silence. And then a blue-furred otter hedgebeast appears through the mirror. "She's very cross with you," the otter announces, as if it's been waiting to say this, "but you being in jail trumps that. Give her a moment, that was probably exhausting."
Right, that's fine, now there's a talking blue otter. That's normal.
Paradoxically, talking blue otters are /more/ normal than some of the stuff C.B.'s been dealing with lately. He stares at the otter with that unblinking stare, desperately trying to catch his breath. "Is there any...booze...or...I need a smoke...or something..." He runs his hands through his hair and squats down, covering his head with said hands. He's still shaking, and while confused, /some/ of this makes sense, in that way things related to the Lost can to someone who is actually Lost. There may be lots of other things that don't make sense, but. With any luck, he can deal with those later...
With an exhausted sigh, Etsy fades back into view, sitting on one of the sleeping bags and looking like someone literally stuck a straw in her and drained her. Her flowers are droopy, her eyes are shadowed and briny-colored, her skin looks ashy and greyish rather than its usual pretty white with blue highlights. "Mrbl," is the first thing she says, and apparently that's the otter's name, because it turns its head. "Drinks please? And cheeroots? And smokes?"
"I am not your butl-- " "Not now, mrbl," Etsy sighs, wiping her webbed hands down over her face. She turns her attention to CB, then. "You are doing such a stupids, CB, but am not leavings you in the jails."
Apparently in the bags are bottles of mead, a bag of weed and rolling papers, a lighter, a pack of smokes, packs of jerky, and dried cheeroot. The otter starts by handing a bottle of mead to Etsy and offering one to CB. "Just sit down, drink the mead."
C.B. blinks. Blinkblinkblinkblink. Yep, Etsy was just about the last person he expected to see here. Still, /he/ doesn't have anything against her, really, even if she thinks he's a stupidhead. He extends a shaking hand towards the mead and falls back on his haunches, landing on the ground of the tent. First things first, he takes such a long swig from the bottle it's a wonder he doesn't just choke on the stuff. He gasps for breath once he comes up for air, bloodshot eyes rolling up to peer at Etsy. "What happened?" he asks, still confused. He eyes the cigarettes hungrily but doesn't reach for them without being offered. He can be polite!
It's impossible to overstate just how drained Etsy looks. She'll probably feel better after a brief rest, because she did just live up to her Charitable nature and take significant risk to get him out of there. Opening her own mead, she takes a swallow of it, leaning forward on the knees propped up in front of her. Her knees. They aren't just some random knees she stole. Though with Etsy you never know. A gesture toward the otter, who, picking up the cigarettes, opens the pack, takes one out, and lights it. Yeah, the otter lights a cigarette. That's why Etsy has a hedgebeast with hands, motherfucker.
"She took you mirrorwalking," the otter explains, passing the cigarette over and wrinkling up its little nose irritatedly at the smoke. It skitters over to open the side flap. That is the sound of a waterfall, somewhat distantly. "This is what she does. She's kind of famous for it. She broke the cameras in the cell, walked in through the wall, took you out through a mirror, and then went back to get me and take the mirror." A pause, as the otter skitters back over to start rolling up a joint, which is probably ridiculously adorable. "She'll talk in a minute. She's very tired. Takes a lot out of her."
A hedgebeast with hands in (pun intended) handy, really. Why can't Yossarian light /your/ cigs, C.B.?! Regardless, C.B. reaches out and takes the cigarette from the otter, after he can steady his hand for long enough. He's listening, surely, but he closes his eyes and takes a long, /long/ drag. "Oh thank fucking god," he mutters to himself, sighing out the smoke, and then he blearily opens his eyes to watch and listen to the otter. "Mirrorwalking," he repeats, and then angrily hisses "Shut up!" to...well, no one here, because he's looking behing him, away from both Etsy and the otter. He stares back at the otter again, continuing to smoke and drink like it's his job. "She broke me out of...where was I?" His brow all scrunches up and he runs a hand through his brown and silver hair. "Jail? I was..." His gaze flits over to Etsy next, just watching her. Probably trying to figure out what to think, how to feel, what to say. He is still very muddled.
It takes a fair amount to make Etsy really concerned, especially when she just spent 3/4 of her glamour and most of her willpower, but CB's doing it. She sits watching him for a moment, then leans over and picks up some of the dried cheeroot, chewing on them. "Who is yelling ats, CB?" she asks carefully, soaking in the glamour from the healing fruit rather than actually being healed by it. "Is only you, me, and the otter here."
"You were in jail," the otter explains, lighting the joint, too, and handing that to Etsy first. The Spring takes a couple small tokes from it and holds it out toward CB. He'll need to figure out how to manage his bottle, his cigarette and that, but, you know. "She rescued you from jail."
"Not doing okays, CB. Jails is not a goodness for us. Doesn't matter how am feelings, matters to not have you in a jails. Probably a problems later with polices, but, eh. Cannot write if a brains in pieces." Etsy's expression slowly relaxes as the low-grede euphoric of cheeroot combines with the THC. Much better.
C.B.'s face scrunches up again. He bites his lip and...doesn't answer, when Etsy asks him who he's yelling at. Instead, he stares down at the floor with the same wild-eyed, thousand-yard stare he's had going on, and mutters some sort of apology.
He only looks up again when the joint is offered. He eyes it almost suspiciously for a moment before taking it. He forces himself to take a /very/ small toke, which is the opposite of the way he's treating that bottle and that cigarette (both of those are already nearly gone). And he hands it back to Etsy as quickly as he can, almost like he's afraid of it.
Once again, then, his eyes are on Etsy, the lightning inside them crackling dimly. He swallows and says, after another glance at the otter, "Well, uh." His voice is all hoarse and he swallows again, harder this time. "Th-thank you. For, um, doing that, I..." His eyes widen again. Maybe he's wondering what the cops will do to him now? Who knows. He's clearly not in his right mind.
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 5 Successes for an exceptional success.
< 1 1 2 2 3 4 4 4 5 6 6 7 7 8 9 9 9 9 >
==-> >> Manipulation + Persuasion.Big_Eyes + 2 + 2 + 1 9-Again << <-
She takes the weed back, takes another toke -- the idea is to take the horrible edge of being low on glamour away, not get so high she can't deal with it if shit happens -- and then pinches it out between her fingers, hissing annoyedly. The joint is handed to the mrbl, and she instructs, "Not forgetting to put back to a Leo's stash place." Look, borrowing weed from Leo for a good cause, he'll understand that.
The mermaid, all sweet siren voice and delicate looks, turns her attention fully to CB now. She doesn't necessarily like doing stuff like this -- it's a little too much like luring in people trying to escape from her Keeper so she can drown them -- but he's clearly just not doing well. "Who is a talkings to, CB? Why is so afraids? Is out, now. Is free. Take breaths, relax. Is many more meads, and if runs out, can get from refrigerator. I putting a light inside always on and a mirrors to get more of a meads if needing." Of course she did. Why do something the normal way when you can use Changeling magic?
"Do not be afraids. Is safe. Is stay here, is make a phone calls if needs a phone calls. Is relax. Is a deep breaths. Is take a naps. Tomorrow, is a betters. Humans is humans. Can talk a humans into anything. Is most important that a Lost is not in a cage."
She's eerily persuasive, isn't she. Even the often-combative, argumentative C.B. seems lulled by her questions. He attempts to breathe out (he was holding his breath) and manages not to lie about this particular thing. Although he's more of a truthteller by nature, this is one of those things he's learned to lie about. But instead he says...
CB says, “John. I was talking to John. He's being an asshole." C.B. frowns and drinks more mead. He rubs the bridge of his nose, like he feels a headache coming on. "He keeps saying he's gonna get Bartleby to explain it all so I realize exactly what kind of position I'm in, and I just don't need that right now...you know what I mean?!" He waves an exaasperated hand, like, of course she should know!”
She's eerily persuasive, isn't she. Even the often-combative, argumentative C.B. seems lulled by her questions. He attempts to breathe out (he was holding his breath) and manages not to lie about this particular thing. Although he's more of a truthteller by nature, this is one of those things he's learned to lie about. But instead he says...
"John. I was talking to John. He's being an asshole." C.B. frowns and drinks more mead. He rubs the bridge of his nose, like he feels a headache coming on. "He keeps saying he's gonna get Bartleby to explain it all so I realize exactly what kind of position I'm in, and I just don't need that right now...you know what I mean?!" He waves an exaasperated hand, like, of course she should know!
Flowerings are eerily persuasive. The air around her smells sweet of water lilies, salty and fresh like the air over the sea on a Spring day. In an enclosed space like a tent? That's a heck of a thing. Her Spring mantle has already started overtly colonizing all the room inside the tent, and she finishes her first mead, reaching for another one. And then CB says that he's talking to ... and she blinks twice.
"Oh," she agrees, keeping her face to that practiced liar's expression that she has practiced so very, very well. "Well, maybe is a goodness to finish cigarette, make a phone calls -- I bringed a phones of pre-paid -- and has a nap, okay?"
C.B. begs off on the phone calls, for now...he's still too jittery to make them, it would seem. As for napping...he passes out for a brief, sharp period of time, but this chronic insomniac can't really sleep. Oh, wouldn't it be nice to just rest that electric brainpan in sweet dreams for awhile...alas, he is rarely that lucky.
He /does/, however, drink as much mead as he is able to, and smoke as many cigarettes as he can. At some point, he might be found pacing back and forth directly outside the tent, holding the pre-paid phone in his hand, staring at it as though deciding who to call. None of C.B.'s relationships are very straightforward...and how does he explain to his lawyer, his agent, or anyone mundane that he's just sprung from a jail cell? What kind of story will he need to concoct? Maybe this was all a bad idea...
Etsy could enforce sleep on him, but there are some lines she isn't going to cross -- yet. She leaves the otter to watch him while he sleeps, and goes to swim in Tamarack Falls, and the pool beneath it. It's not sitting in a bar on Ladies' Night or sitting outside Wal-Mart at midnight on Black Friday, there's no want to give her glamour, but at least swimming feels good.
So it's coming up from the water and onto the bank that Etsy finds CB with a phone in his hand. Casual mermaid nudity is a thing. She's tiny, white, and legs shimmer with scale-like patterns in the moonlight; Etsy picks up one of her layers of dresses and uses it to blot the worst of the water out of her hair without crushing her flowers. "Mrbl, did have a brings my robe?" she calls toward the tent, walking on the tips of the collapsed fins that are sort of feet for her back toward CB. "What is?" she asks of CB.
Etsy's casual nudity startles C.B. who is, granted, easily startleable...or at least right now. His eyes move over her form almost involuntarily before he blushes and looks away. He's currently smoking and he pulls hard on the cig, staring up at the sky instead of Etsy. "I don't know...I don't know who to call. What to say. 'Hi, Gerald, how's my case coming? Oh, by the way, I was magically sprung from jail by a petite mermaid, so if you try to reach me there, you'll be shit out luck?'" He sighs, but at least he's not actively talking to any invisible friends at the moment. It could be an improvement. Or just a temporary reprieve.
It's possible that this is part of some sinister plan to keep him off his guard so that he'll actually talk, or it's possible that Etsy is just used to being naked. She's made delicately, true enough, but on her back, her upper arms, her thighs are scars that might have something to do with why the mermaid so often wears so many loose, long dresses around humans. Possibly whip-marks, possibly claws or teeth -- they're long, ugly, old, white things, faded with time but still present, a ruiner on the otherwise perfectly-crafted little sea creature. She drifts past him as the otter mutters its way out and holds up her robe -- a big, seafoam green thing that's seen better days. She fusses her way around putting it on, making sure her hair isn't caught under the neckline, all of that. "Wanting me to send a monies to the jails? Is not a difficults. Can do a pledges for a monies and a fake names, send a monies to a jails, is done." Beat. "I'm not sorry. You weren't okay." That's relatively clear for Etsy.
C.B. keeps staring at the phone. He's incredibly paranoid and he doesn't own a cell phone and how does he know this thing isn't tracking his whereabouts right -now-? After all, he has probably no idea what a prepaid phone even is. That's how in the dark he is about these things. A place where he's kept himself, granted.
Once he seems to realize that she is clad once again, his blue-silver eyes flit up to the bathrobed mermaid. "It's not about monies...money," and he purses his lips, because he's fussy about language and it's hard not to talk like Etsy when one is not in one's right mind and around her for long enough! "It's about the /legality/ of the thing." He draws hard on the cigarette again, making the cherry crackle. "I was in jail, now I'm not -- and I pissed off a lot of cops. I mean a LOT." He lets out an unstable little chuckle. "Money, I mean sure, this will probably bankrupt me, but like you said, there's always a way...it's the legal part...that part I don't know about...I just don't know." He scratches the side of his head and mutters to himself, peering down at the phone again.
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 4 Successes
< 1 1 2 2 5 5 6 8 9 10 10 >
=============================-> >> Wits + Empathy + 1 No Flags << <-
"Is phone a worries? I buyed it befores. My phone is offs right now, so cannot have a tracks of us. Phone is brand new, I did a buying with cash. Am used to being ... having to do a rescues of people from a jails, or people who need to not be found by police," explains Etsy. She raises one of her webbed hands and scratches at her cheek with her blunted fingernails, wandering over to a treestump and sitting down on it. She still looks really run down, her flowers a little droopy, but she's better now that she's swum. For once, though, she's actually leaving footprints. Well, finprints, anyway. She's not wearing shoes, and Separation isn't worth the glamour when she's running on fumes.
"Oh," Etsy agrees, thoughtfully. "Well, is ways to handle it. Mostly can use pledges. Lots of things can be done with a pledges. Can do a cop friend, can do a best lawyer, can do a new identity. Human laws is human laws. Not the important laws. Anyway, all cops are bastards." She shrugs loosely. "I guessing if having a career, is problems. I can put you back later, but you already gone. So is too lates. Still not sorry, CB. You were not okay." Pause. "You're still not."
"You break a lot of people out of jail, Etsy?" C.B. raises an eyebrow at her, folding his arms, but even if he's been a little more ornery, a little more sarcastic, this isn't entirely a bad thing -- this is more "normal" C.B. behavior. It means the lull is continuing, at least for the time being. Who knows how long it will last, right?
He snorts, blowing more smoke up at the sky. "You don't have to tell /me/ all cops are bastards, I tried to barbeque their asses..." Then C.B. frowns, and forces himself to look at her again. "You know, I've always felt a little...weird about pledges. I dunno. They make me uncomfortable. They shouldn't, but...they feel like cheating...I mean, if you have ideas..." He raises his eyebrows as if to say, I can't believe I'm asking Etsy for ideas.
But then C.B. purses his lips and stares at his feet. She struck a nerve there. One, that his career is more important to him than he likes to admit, and two, that he's not okay. Everything on his face suggests that he knows that. He can't even argue with her. He's struck uncharacteristically speechless for a moment.
"Uh. Yes. I am breaking a lot of people out of jail," Etsy answers, her forehead wrinkling up as if that's not an abnormal thing at all. "Is not good for Lost to be in jails. We cannot be in cages. I would breaking my worst enemies out of a jails. I would break big buttheads who are mean to me for no reasons out of a jails." Her nose wrinkles up too, and then she lets out a puff of air. "Mrbl, am wanting a joints please."
The otter obliges, but generally stays out of this conversation, rolling its beady little black eyes.
"Yes. Can has a pledge for friends who can help. Cop friends, lawyer friends, money to pay, ways to be better at lyings, friends who can make up an evidences, friends who can get rid of an evidences... monies to pay people to make things seem faked... can have so many fake person names to make a social medias and news believe was a fakes. Can sneak in and make mistakes in police evidences, so have to do a throwing out the charges." Etsy presses her lips together, pointing out, "Am not a stupids, CB. Just because am talking a mermaids talk and go 'floof floof' am not a stupids. This is what I am doing. Couriers get things from places to places, and sometimes the things to get from places to places is peoples out of troubles."
She takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "Pledges are not cheating. Pledges are making the assholes who did something terrible to us give us something back. Same as Contracts. So I will helping you with a pledge, because no Lost belong in cages. I am making no promises about careers. But I am not leavings you in a cage, CB. Not now, not ever."
-> >> Etsy to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 3 Successes
< 1 1 2 2 3 4 4 5 5 6 6 7 10 10 10 >
=====================-> >> Resolve + Stamina + Mantle No Flags << <-
GAME: Etsy spends 1 Glamour with reason: feel better CB
C.B. frowns at the butthead comment, but...he knows he was a butthead. Is a butthead? If he can even remember that night. Which he very well may not be able to. He finishes the cigarette and immediately lights another one he'd snatched on the old one before flicking the butt away.
Then he frowns and tilts his head at her, though he looks upset, and tired, and probably confused. "I don't think you're stupid, Etsy. I really don't. And -- you're right, but the...I don't know, so much lying..." He rubs his temples, like lying gives him a headache. He opens his eyes again, considering as she goes on. Perhaps this is something he often thinks about, but doesn't talk about. And he's considering her words now. "I'll think about it," he might be muttering. Then he asks, with a slight smirk, "What's in it for you?" But he could be half-kidding. Or not.
"Is two more packs in the bags inside. Was not sure how long would need to be staying out here for you to having a calm downs. Most people who are breaked out of a jails need some time." Etsy lights the joint that the otter brought, and takes a long toke. She offers it up to CB, adding, "Do not have to takes. Won't be offended." Some people have weird etiquette rules.
"Sometimes is having a talking to me like is a stupids. Lots of people is, but you ... you have a goodness at it. Like way you see world is just right way and other people dumb if not seeing it rights." She absently fiddles with the waist tie on the robe, tilts her head back toward the water. It's tough to tell where she's looking, really, with no pupils in her eyes, just that sea-change green, faintly luminous in the dark. "Dunno. Maybe a monies. Maybe a big houses with a tanks in. Am not so much robot boyfriends anymore, only kind of, was moving too quickness, so need own house with tanks in, maybe is not having a build anymore." Shrug. "Mostly, what is in for me is being who I am. I told you. I don't leave people in jails."
C.B. pauses, looking distinctly worried for a moment, but he takes the joint. Once again, the toke he takes is very small before he hands it back. He watches her, that worried, disturbed, somewhat sad look not really leaving his face as he listens. Then he bridges the gap between them -- a tad, not all the way -- and squats down in front of her. "Etsy, I am actually a screwed-up idiot. You shouldn't listen to anything I say. I mean, right now, I feel a little bit better, but it could change at any moment. You shouldn't take it personally. If I -- hurt your feelings, or whatever, I'm sorry." This all seems perfectly genuine. He stares at the ground again. "I don't know if I have the money to buy you a big house with a tank, but if you really wanted to make a Pledge in return for getting me out, well...I would do it." He nods to himself, pursing his lips. "I gotta figure out what to do about the rest..."
"Don't do it if you don't have a wanting to, CB. Is a sharings, not me being some sort of Spring drug pushings." Etsy takes the joint back, takes another toke, and holds it in her lungs for a very, very long while before slowly letting it out of her narrow nose. Stubbing it out again, she clicks her tongue, calling the mrbl back, and passes it over once more. Her attention is all on CB, now, and she turns her body toward him, moves her small feet and her knees to center him to her person and her vision. It's tough to tell where she's looking a lot of the time, but when she's looking right at someone? They know. Being the center of a Flowering's attention is a rather singular sort of experience. The scent of water lilies, the climbing vines that curl over shoelaces and all the rest. And then Etsy reaches out one of her webbed hands to carefully take one of his: warmth flows from the Fairest's fingertips through CB's body, washing out exhaustion, wiping out hunger, healing the bruises and lacerations the cops left behind with fists and feet and batons. "All Lost are screwed-up idiots," she assures him quietly. "Is only questions of how is screwed up, how is idiots. I am making so many mistakes, but have also a goodness. Yes, you are sometimes big butthead of condescension, and you hurt feelings of a mermaid. Is an accepting of your apology." She holds on to his hand for a moment or two after the warmth fades, leaving him awake and whole, and then gently releases it, her expression soft, and a little wry. No one seems more welcoming and easy to get on with than a Flowering who wants to be got on with, and, at least for now, she does. "Am offerings a pledge. Am suggestings. You do not need to do a paying of me for what I do. It is what I do. What I must be doing. If I can helping you? Will help as best as can within my rules of mermaids. Okay?"
"No, it's not that. I like grass, I just have to be -- uh. Careful of it, when I'm like -- this." C.B. scrunches up his nose and runs his hand through his hair. He lets out an audible sigh as that healing energy moves through him -- he probably even recognizes it from another Spring Flowering he used to hang around with a lot, before he messed /that/ one up. "Well. In my defense," he says, a sad little smile on his face, "I was a screwed-up idiot even before I was Lost. That's gotta count for something, right?" Yes, he does seem a little livelier, at least physically, after she releases his hand. Then he nods, letting out another sigh. The Wizened sure does sigh a damn lot, like there's just not enough air in the universe for his lungs at any one given time. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll think about it." C.B. seems to mean that, too. A serious, considering expression flits across his features. "If I can think, for just a little while...do you mind if I hang out here, if I stay here? For a bit?" He gestures back towards the tent. "Until I sort my shit? I mean, you've done enough already, so. Don't feel obligated, please."
"Ohhhhhh." Etsy lets out a long, understanding sound, waves a hand. "Cheeroot is betters anyways. I have a couple of those. Have had a cheeroots? Is like weed only is less 'woob woob' in head and just is feelings very very nice and relax. Euphoric. Mild, though. Is not like an MDMAs level, is too much. Anything where can throw ups and it feels good, kinda weird."
There's an expression of satisfaction that warms her face when he enlivens. Healers like it when they heal people. It's good. She tips up her chin a little, content. "What, for like, some hours or some days?" Etsy flips one of her webbed hands, adding, "Is not a bothers either way. Will stay somes. Not all the time maybes, but. Am not ... always livings with Maddoxes at moment. Things goes too fast, I said am maybe should be datings only, was acting too marrieds too fast. So can be here, in tent." That hand flips again, absently. It's fine, that doesn't bother her at all. It's totally the emotionally mature thing to do to not act like you married a guy three weeks after you meet him and therefore it doesn't upset her at all. "You should not be alones so much right now, maybe. And look."
"At least you know what you were like before." Her narrow shoulders shrug.
C.B. shrugs and nods, getting back up to his feet again. "I've had cheeroots, yeah. They're pretty good. "I don't know. Probably not long. Maybe just a few hours. My head hurts less, I might...make some phone calls..." He stares down at the damn phone again. "...and try to figure it out." C.B. squints, nods, listens. Perhaps her 'maturity' surprises him. It's all so different than some of the other times he's seen her. "No, I won't be alone right now, for long...if I don't stay here, I won't go off on my own. The voices will start to come back, anyway, sooner rather than later." In this moment, right now? They are in the background. It's why he can be a little more lucid. Then he tilts his head and asks, "No memory? Sometimes I wonder if that would be better." There's a wry, sad smile. "But I guess everyone wants what they don't have, eh?"
The problem with being such an incredibly accomplished liar is that you get so good at lying you may start to forget what the truth is. You can lie so well that you can lie to yourself. Or at least, you can fool everyone else into thinking you've lied to yourself. Or maybe it's the truth and you're -- the point is, maybe Etsy really is displaying a moment of emotional maturity. Maybe she's just lying about it that it doesn't bother her. Maybe she's being emotionally mature and it's killing her but she's hiding it. It's possible that even the mermaid doesn't know. "Stay as needs. Will be here, me and mrbl. One or both, as long as is here, is you. Okay?" She reaches out her hand, gently touches his again. "If voices is coming back, and is more than is a mermaids can do, who is should be calling? Lawyers? Friends? Partners?" Her hand withdraws once more, and both fold up on her berobed lap, rather primly. "Not none. But mostly none. Was a long time ago, really. But yes, I guessing is always want what does not has. Is how a people is. Is not a badness to want. Is not a badness to be hungry. If did not want, would not make things happen." Of course a Spring would feel that way.
C.B. takes her hand when it's offered, and pats it. It's the most lucid he's looked in awhile, for sure. Maybe the lessening of physical symptoms helped out with that. She lets go, and he pulls on the cigarette he is surely still smoking. "You know Mina? Franklyn? Try them first." There's a note in his voice, like mentioning them in the same sentence causes him pain, but there you have it. "I might...try them, myself. With this thing." This time, he shakes the phone in his hand and tries to smile. It's brave, in its own way. Cell phones freak him out /that/ much. He smiles a bit ruefully at her final statements, nodding. He even says: "Spoken like a true Spring."
Well, she'll take it, at least for now. "Giving me the numbers for them, then, please." Etsy gets up, moving somewhat unsteadily without Separation cushioning her feet from the earth. The little mermaid has fins for feet, folded up like a fan, and it isn't easy to move on them. She brings back her phone -- a smartphone in a pink Otterbox with stickers all over it -- and holds it out to him. "Am knowing a Minas, is a Springs like me. What Court is a Franklyns?" Yeah, clearly Etsy doesn't know her. "I can do the phone calls, if needs, CB. That phone is a trash, anyways. Just throw out when dones. I got it for to throw aways when dones." She settles back in front of him. "Well. I am. Am only Springs, in all my heart."
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